


Simulacrum

by hexereii



Category: Fantastic Four, Fantastic Four (Comicverse)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Resolved Sexual Tension, Robot Sex, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Victor Being Horny On Main, robots as a stand-in for the person you have the hots for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23993011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexereii/pseuds/hexereii
Summary: Matching set of drabbles in which Reed and Victor respectively interact with robot versions of each other.
Relationships: Reed Richards/Doombot(s), Reed Richards/Victor von Doom
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

Satisfied that everything checked out, Reed chanced a peek over his tablet at the broad, armored figure sitting loosely at the edge of the exam table. Doombots of this class were rare in captivity; buried deep in their sophisticated artificial brains was a diabolical piece of code no one had ever been able to counter. The sequence ensured that Victor's machinery not only became inoperable before it could pass into unauthorized hands but self-destructed with enough _oomph_ to obliterate anyone foolish enough to try it.

Reed had been working on a plan to capture one intact for years, but no combination of targeted EMP and on-the-fly programming had ever stopped the kill-switch sequence before it could finish until now.

  
Pulling off his safety glasses now that the immediate danger was past, Richards considered his 'prize.' More to the point, he considered how best to remove its outer layers without damage to their vital components. Studying pieces of DoomTech had gotten him nowhere, even after all this time. There was only so much he could guess at with Victor, his methods were far from intuitive but access to _this_ machine, to every layer of it, would rid him of any further need to for such guesswork. It would put the Four well ahead of anything the good 'doctor' might be planning.

If enough could be salvaged, it might even provide the key to shutting down ALL of Doom's robots in one go--that was the ideal. 

But first things first. The metaphorical bomb seated on that narrow ledge was no longer _ticking_ , but it was still _live,_ limbs dangling gracelessly and head bowed over its lap like a patient who'd nodded off midway through an examination. Without a full system reset, the thing would just blow itself up and him with it as soon as it was powered on again.

Reed tapped away on the pad, secure behind a wall of protective glass. Nearly there, just a few more adjustments to the code, and...

Extending one arm cautiously around the barrier, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and clicked the recessed button at the base of the Doombot's skull. The whole thing jerked to life so suddenly that Reed recoiled.

"Where... am I?"

A low, drowsy voice that put him instantly on edge. Too familiar; too much like the original. Really, it was brilliant work, he couldn't deny that, but on the whole... _Deeply_ unsettling.

"Don't you recognize this place, Victor?" Of course the thing didn't. It had never been here before. But Doom had, and if the memory in its head shared any overlap with its creator's... that might be a useful piece of information.

Stepping out from behind his protective shield was foolish, probably, but Reed wasn't inclined to shout at the 'bot through an inch-thick layer of glass and nano-wire, either.

The Doombot paused, its expression wary.

" _Richards_ ," it rumbled angrily. "What is the meaning of this?"

Reed hummed in thought, well aware that the top-tier 'bots had no idea of what they were, but unwilling to continue the charade any further himself. There was something... unspeakably _tragic_ about these poor, lost creations, built so brilliantly that they were indistinguishable from a living being, but without any distinct identity of their own. 

"Authorization override code: Prometheus. Imprint new master; Richards, Reed."

Scowling, the robot continued to watch him carefully. From this close, he could see the breathing motions and subtle changes in pupillary response. It even had a scent, though there was something in that--a lack of pheromones, an absence of bacterial traces that would have provided the necessary realism. Leave it to Victor to fail the Turing test by making a machine that was too _perfect_ to be real.

"Authorization accepted." The 'bot visibly relaxed, leaning back slightly with both hands gripping the padded cushion behind it. "...Imprinting new controller: Reed Richards. What are your orders?"

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, Reed's mind spun with ideas and possibilities. He hadn't fully expected that to work, and now that it had... he wasn't sure what to _do_ with it exactly.

"Unmask," he said quietly, uncertain why the thought had crept into his mind.

The robot dutifully reached up and pulled the sculpted faceplate free with great care; it made a series of clicking noises, like briefcase locks opening.

Victor's face, unscarred and unblemished, stared back at him coolly and Reed felt his stomach drop. 

Doom had given it a _face_. 

He'd given it **_his own_** face, in fact. 

Why? Why would he do such a thing? To perpetuate the myth that he was without flaw? Simple vanity?   
Or had he intended this robot to be captured all along?

"I don't understand..." Reed murmured, reaching out to trace a small scar on its cheek. The skin beneath his fingertips felt entirely real; warm and soft and genuinely human. If not for the blankness of expression, the lack of any response to his nearness at all, he could almost imagine...

Exactly how detailed was it? He couldn't help wondering. It had Victor's dark brown eyes; it even had the appearance of their intelligence and awareness. But then... of course it did. If any single part didn't meet with its own expectations, the 'bot would know it wasn't real--and that cognitive dissonance would unravel its core programming completely. Perhaps even explosively.

Reed considered how best to proceed. He needed to examine it further, obviously, but getting too close to it seemed... unwise. Staring down at his own hand, at the fingers that had touched the thing's cheek, he tried to get his own surging emotions under control. The similarity had thrown him, that was all. He wasn't expecting to see Victor's face again, it was only natural that would leave him stunned.

Blinking calmly, the Doombot awaited further orders and Reed straightened with a nervous little cough.

"Can you... remove the armor, Victor?"

"Yes." A perfectly rational, considered response to the question.

Reed resisted the urge to laugh; phrasing mattered, evidently. Robots were literal creatures at heart, no matter how complex their interface.

"Please do so."

There was no reason at all for the 'bot to have a... detailed... body beneath those metal plates, Reed thought. And yet, each glove was removed to show very human-looking hands. The cloak clasp was unfastened and allowed to fall back on the narrow bed as it unlocked and stripped away armplates and pauldrons, holster and belt and tunic, every last piece of metal or scrap of cloth, breastplate last.

Reed stared in rapt attention, eyes darting from one point to the next. He was beautiful, of course; beautiful, and superficially identical to Victor.

There was no need for him to disrobe further, but the 'bot continued and scientific curiosity prevented Reed from stopping him.

('At what point,' he wondered, 'did I begin thinking of this thing as ' _him_ '?')

Functionally, there was no difference between this and gazing at a statue made in Victor's image, he reminded himself and ignored the silly impulse to turn away; to offer it some measure of privacy. It was certainly nearer to a work of art than a mere machine.

He couldn't help but feel a growing sense of admiration for the genius behind it. The more it revealed, the more impressive it was--and the more certain he felt that it had not fallen into his hands by accident.

Reed no longer felt guilty for examining the 'bot so closely. That was clearly its purpose, clearly part Victor's plan, maybe there was a reason for that, something about it that he should notice, something vital... He'd already checked for traditional explosives, recording devices, computer viruses, and chemical agents of every sort--there was nothing more to the thing than what his eyes could see, but wasn't that enough? That it looked like Victor, leaning nonchalantly against the padded table, shamelessly naked and stunningly attractive and--uncircumcised, he realized, too.

Suddenly, Reed's face felt hot and the room was stifling; he moved more out of nervous, jittery impulse than anything else, grabbing one of the robot's hands and examining the palm and fingertips; it had prints. It had Victor's prints, to be specific, and several points were roughened and calloused in a familiar pattern.

"Remarkable," he breathed, keeping the hand cradled gently in his own as his free one reached out to trace the Doombot's collarbone, trailing downward slowly through the soft hair dusting its chest.

(Odd that a simple examination would make him feel so... giddy and strange. So out of breath and intensely aware of how warm the synthetic skin felt. How shockingly real.)

"Why do you touch me?" The question was entirely innocent, a product of simple curiosity.

Reed hesitated, reluctant to stop but certain that he should.

"I suppose..." Dampening his lips with the tip of his tongue, he sighed and withdrew. "...Because I've always _wanted_ to." He sounded wistful and knew it; _hated_ it, but saying the words out loud offered a kind of relief, even if it was only to a machine. A facsimile.

The Doombot smiled slowly, and Reed watched with a growing sense of unease.

"As I always suspected." 

" _...What?"_ Panic was rising. There was something odd about that response, something too real in it-- "... ** _Victor_**??"

The smile spread triumphantly and Reed felt suddenly cold all over.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong here, but his thoughts wouldn't catch up to what was occurring. Had it been programmed to respond like this? And if so... why? What did Victor know or suspect?

The 'bot cupped his cheek and leaned in, keeping his eyes locked on Reed's until both had to focus elsewhere. When their lips finally touched, the panic melted away no matter how relevant he knew, logically, it truly was--there was just no room for anything but the closeness and heat and the steady, soothing rhythm of Victor's fingers kneading the back of his neck. It was too real, from the way he tasted of metal and wine to the steady circuit of his breath and the slow, lulling beat of his heart against Reed's chest.

There was no room for any other concern against the overwhelming sense of Victor himself--and with it, the sinking certainty that yes, he knew. He knew that Reed was in love with him, and there was no knowing what he might _do_ with that knowledge.

Breaking away from the kiss, Reed groped blindly for the datapad and staggered back with it clutched to his chest. His breathing was shaky and sharp.

"These machines, Richards, these robots--they can each house a small part of Doom's consciousness at will. You are not an unintelligent man; you know what that means."  
The voice was no longer just an uncanny match--the inflection and cheerful malice left no doubt that Victor had bypassed the thing's programming completely--and now spoke through it. He'd looked through its eyes and seen exactly what Reed most hoped to keep hidden.

"Go to hell, Victor. And take your damned _toys_ with you." His hands shook as he entered the code to initiate self-destruct, falling into a chair behind the safety glass and waiting for the inevitable.

* * *

Victor admired his creation warmly--he could almost indulge the thought that it wasn't a replica at all, even from inches away. Every detail and imperceptible flaw was duplicated, from the exact number of silvery hairs at each temple to the few faint specks of pigmentation across the nose and cheeks--freckles, if one could call them that--the resemblance to Reed was uncanny.

Thick scar tissue stretched uncomfortably around a vicious little smile. This must surely be the success he'd hoped for; pacing a slow circle around the slender figure to appreciate his handiwork, he felt certain it would pass for the genuine article. And of course, with his own clever puppet installed in Richards' stead, the possibilities for revenge were endless. Destroying his reputation, his livelihood, the safety of his teammates, his friends... full access to every part of Reed's pathetic life and no one would have any idea until it was too late.

"Initiate Baxter programming; authorization code: king's gambit."

The robot instantly drooped into a loose-limbed stance, blinking up at him as core functions engaged.

"Victor? How did you get here--" Looking around in confusion, the robot seemed genuinely surprised and more than slightly concerned. "Or... how did **_I_**?"

Behind the mask, Doom practically beamed. It couldn't have been more perfect, really; speech, expression, gesture and movement, every detailed was exact. There wasn't a soul on Earth who'd have guessed this was a machine and not the genuine article.

"Have you forgotten your purpose so easily, Richards? Whom do you serve?"

Reed frowned, then huffed and laugh and scrubbed the heel of his hand against the center of his forehead.

"I don't--"

"Answer the question."

"I serve Doom." The words seemed to surprise him. "...No. That isn't right-- Why did I say that-- Victor, what have you _done?"_

He couldn't have explained why he chose to stand so close to the thing; why he clearly delighted in the added height from the armor, or the look of horrified confusion on Reed's face.

"You are _mine_ , Reed. Entirely." Victor's pulse raced. Yes, it was only a robot, but he could pretend, couldn't he? Call it... a practice run.

"Absolutely not." The robot seemed to have difficulty forming those words, and _that_ was an interesting side effect--but would the core programming prove strong enough to rewrite the coding for identity, personality, ego? "You can't... own a _person_ , Doom. It's against... _multiple_ international laws and... even your _own_ flexible moral code should at least stop short of... of **_that._** "

Hands pressed to both temples as if it were fighting a headache, the machine glared back defiantly.

It wasn't wrong, admittedly--what it didn't realize, of course, was that it didn't count.

"Nevertheless." Doom took a step closer and studied his creation.

Perfect in every detail. Identical.

~~_Lovely_~~.

"To whom do you belong, Richards?"

The robot shuddered and clutched its head, making an indecipherable noise of dismay. Then it twitched sharply to attention, hands falling to its sides, and turned dark brown eyes on Victor, curiously serene and unblinking.

"To you, master."

All hints of resistance left it; the robot stared up at him proudly, all of its central programming requirements met even as the secondary ones failed entirely.

Victor gave it a final pitying look and turned away. What would it have been like, he wondered, to be stared at that way by Reed himself? That look of adoration and longing--

Doom murmured the termination code gently; as if he were soothing a wounded animal.

The real Reed would never have given in, of course. Until the AI was perfect, until it was stubborn and willful enough to refuse its own programming, it was useless to him. The experiment was a failure; a monumental waste of effort and time.

Though that didn't explain why he paused to close the 'bots eyes or brush a stray curl from its forehead before leaving.

Victor had no explanation himself.


	2. Robot Fic Trifecta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah, everything i touch turns into a whole big story and this is why we can't have nice things (or finished WIPs--next chapter when, next chapter whom?) 
> 
> i apologize. my new job eats a lot of time and... yeah, these are crazy times, have some smut~

He'd found the file during a routine sweep for stolen data in the Doomstadt computer archives: evidence that Victor was building... well, building _him_ , in a manner of speaking. A robotic duplicate of Reed Richards, though to what end he couldn't quite guess. At the time, Mister Fantastic had opted to tell no one else on the team what he'd discovered--not until he knew more, had a plan to act on, had... something, at least, more than just a few suspicious files.

Of course, gathering further data meant breaching Latveria's cyber-security on an even deeper level, and the secrets Reed unearthed in the process were very troubling indeed--such as just how far along Victor had come with his plan, how successful the attempt at creating an android impersonator had been so far, and the sheer _volume_ of data he'd somehow amassed on his subject toward that end, how much he _knew_ about Reed...

It was almost flattering, in a twisted sort of way. 

The final piece in the whole puzzle had come attached to Victor's "gift;" the Doombot's networking systems had somehow remained intact even after a self-contained destruct sequence reduced most of its inner workings to slag. 

With careful work and modification, that lacework of capillary wires and cables could be used to line a headset, providing the core part of a rig that would, eventually, allow Reed to do precisely what Doom had done in the opposite direction--connecting remotely to the network used exclusively by Victor's robots and plugging his own consciousness into the one that matched his neurological profile. Essentially, using Doom's own tech against him. 

From there, sabotage would be simple. The entire program could be shut down, the data could be wiped out at the source, the backups and the backups of those backups could be destroyed--it would be years before Victor rebuilt it all. And in the meanwhile, Reed would finally be one step ahead.

No real reason to keep the entire plan to himself, of course, and the others would certainly object to every step if they found out--the risks involved were substantial, and the protections he'd written into the programming were rudimentary at best. There was no time for anything more complex than that and the result would hardly do more than prevent permanent brain injury or death. The fact remained that his central nervous system was going to be directly connected to the network that controlled Doom's robotic servants and the number of ways _that_ scenario could possibly go wrong were incalculable.

Maybe that was why he didn't tell them. They would almost certainly have talked him out of it.

Reprogramming the lock on the think-tank door, Reed took off his gloves and boots and considered the machine's functional interface: a comfortably padded thing somewhere between VR gaming rig and futuristic exam table. If he was going to control his robot-self, he'd need the physical version... still and quiet and safely tucked away, that went without saying. The notion didn't really frighten him, but it was a little... daunting. He had no idea where the thing was being kept or in what circumstances, only that the final "test" for that particular unit was scheduled today. Five minutes ago, Latverian time.

He changed as quickly as he could, swinging himself up into the harness and putting on the headset. Taking one last deep breath, he flicked the switch and started the connection.

Everything blurred and spun in a disorienting array for several seconds, static screeching in his ears and, impossibly, buzzing down his spine as though the sound itself were somehow a physical sensation, prickling at his nerves unpleasantly.

Gradually, the overwhelming weirdness of it all faded off and Reed blinked an image into focus from the darkness of his visor: he could see dark curtains tied with a braided sash, but nothing through the glass behind them. Movement took some effort to refine; the connection lagged unpredictably in spikes and bursts that had to be accounted for, but turning his head revealed a fireplace with a low fire still sputtering in it, and above that a painting--Doom on horseback, of all things--while on the other side, tucked away in almost the farthest corner of the room... a large, curtained bed.

A strange place to test a robot, but Victor was nothing if not eccentric. It altered Reed's plans, sure, but not by much (he hoped).

Victor's sudden presence, unannounced as it was, startled him so completely that he nearly jumped. Out of armor, unmasked, he looked so astonishingly _normal_ that Reed was unprepared for the sudden pang of nostalgia. Of simply _missing_ this man so fiercely that it hurt like a wound. The way he knew so well the weary set of his broad shoulders after a long day, or how familiar he was with those unruly dark curls he could just see the outline of in the room's dim lighting, or the way he knew without even looking down that Victor wasn't wearing slippers.

"Do you know where you are, Reed?"

This part should be simple enough at least. Based on all available information about this model, all he really needed to do was be himself... but it was strange to hear Victor use his given name like that. Not in a friendly way, but not exactly threatening, either.

Cautious. 

"Yes, I do." Hands resting on his thighs, breathing in a steady, pre-programmed rhythm. "Though I don't know why."

Watching the way Victor's brow furrowed down the center at the improvisation, Reed considered carefully how best to proceed. Clearly _some_ responses were scripted, at least in part, but he had no idea what the script contained.

"Initiate Reconciliation protocol; authorization code 020102006."

Whatever that was meant to initiate within Reed's borrowed processors, it failed entirely to do so--with his brain patterns overriding the 'bot's programming, all controls were effectively... well... manual, now. And his. Which meant that he had to figure out what the hell to do next and he had to do it before Victor realized what was going on.

Back in the basement lab in New York, Reed was beginning to _sweat_.

"And if I told you that you were here because I requested it?"

Now it was Reed's turn to frown; he only hoped that expression was part of the programming.

"Well then, Victor, I would have a lot of further questions. Meanwhile, it still doesn't answer my first one."

Doom took a step closer and scrutinized Reed's face; Reed refused to look away or to show any sign of intimidation. Instead, he sat back deliberately and folded his arms, fully aware that it was a childish posture, but... sometimes Victor did bring that out in him, truly.

"You don't believe that you would ever choose to simply do as you are told?"

"Not by you, no." Untroubled brown eyes and a half-formed smile; Reed's insouciant look should have been met with outrage. It was what he _expected_ ...but it was not what seemed to be occurring, thusfar.

"And if I told you that you were mine? My creation? That you had no choice but to obey?"

It was unsettling, the way Doom was watching him--that expression was too hard to decipher, as if he were waiting for something or hoping for it, but for what?

"Victor, I don't know what your goal here is..." To make matters worse, the connection seemed to be breaking up as well, as if the system had recognized Reed's presence there as alien and was trying to cut off his access somehow; to shut him out.

He felt his robotic body shudder faintly, and heard Doom say something further, but couldn't make out what. Ultimately, it didn't matter--his answer would be the same regardless:

"I am not your creation." Slowly but surely, he was re-establishing the link. Keeping the connection going... somehow. "And I will never obey you."

Utter silence in the room, and Reed was certain that he'd just outed himself as a fully biological entity after all--and for what? Because his pride couldn't bear a little game of 'Simon Says' with a megalomaniac? Even for a much greater cause? Was he any better than Doom, if he couldn't keep his damned ego in check for long enough to--

His train of thought abruptly derailed. Something was happening, and Reed got to his feet, not knowing what else to do. What was he... what was Victor _doing_ , and **_why?_**  
'Reconciliation' protocol, wasn't that what he'd called this?

Pity Reed had no idea what that _meant_.

* * *

Success, at last. Inevitable though it was--he was Doom, how could it not be--it had taken much longer to arrive than Victor liked and now that the day had arrived at last... his pride was eclipsed by a strange sense of relief.

Yes, the android was ultimately intended to replace Richards and serve a vital function within a much larger scheme, but there was plenty of time before those particular wheels could be set in motion. Meanwhile... he had other plans for it that no one else ever needed to know about. 

And Reed--it helped to think of it as him, _truly_ him--sat watching him with dark, careful eyes as though he expected retaliation.

Doom could almost have smiled at that, under different circumstances. Retaliation was the last thing on his mind.

(Anticipation--that was one emotion of the many swirling in his head. The loudest, so far.)

Taking a final step forward, he knelt gracefully at Reed's feet, robe pooling around him, and reached for his hand--pressing it gently to his own scarred cheek and holding it there.

The tension drained away; Victor closed his eyes and shivered as it went.

"Can you forgive me?" His voice sounded... different. Hushed and sincere and terribly, terribly human. "For all the wrongs I've committed against you, against your family--I have behaved abominably, and... I lacked the courage to face you, before now. To express my remorse." Opening his eyes at last, Victor stared up forlornly. "Can you forgive me, Reed?"

* * *

Staring down in utter bewilderment, heart in his throat and feelings a hopeless, tangled mess, Doctor Richards considered a hasty retreat. What could Doom's game even be, here? It must be a game of some kind, surely, but it made no damned sense! 

"Are you-- Is this a confession of some kind? You're sorry? ...Victor, do you even know what remorse _is_?" Reed couldn't help himself, the shock was too much. Since when did Victor admit to feeling anything of the kind?

But Doom certainly... _seemed_ sincere in this gesture--kneeling? In front of _him_? Why act this out if he didn't mean it? Though of course, the apology wasn't meant for him; not really. The robot was a safer option, but that only made the whole thing more baffling still--Doom stood to gain nothing at all from this, the robot certainly wouldn't be impressed and why should he care if it was?

Victor released his hand and sat back on his heels, staring up at Reed as if something pained him. 

"Yes," He said simply. "I do." Silence, for a few seconds; he finally looked away from Reed but noticeably couldn't quite bring himself to lower his head or otherwise put on a show of contrition. "But you make an excellent point: how can I prove that to you, after all this time? How do I show willingness to make amends, to earn my way back into your good graces? Into your... life, into your heart?"

"It isn't--" Reed began to argue the point. It wasn't that simple, how did Victor not realize... but of course, he did. This was not a full-fledged attempt to redeem himself, maybe it was nothing more than a bored, lonely genius acting out a fantasy, but there was something very genuine here that could be... encouraged.

Victor wanted to earn some degree of absolution? Alright. Maybe that could be good for both of them; it certainly couldn't do any harm.

"Hm." He'd never touched those loose curls before; never been allowed near enough to Victor, even in school. Not even when he slept. Reed took the opportunity now to brush one hand through them, astonished by how soft they felt against his palm. "What are you _willing_ to do, Victor?"

His cheek was gnarled with scarring on the right side, exactly where Reed's hand came to rest. As if he'd instinctively located the worst of the damage without realizing it. 

"Anything." Doom closed his eyes and Reed absently stroked the raised arc of one scar with his thumb, wanting badly to kiss that exact spot. The Doombot, with its perfected good looks, had unsettled him at the time and now he finally realized why: it wasn't the face he knew, anymore. It wasn't Victor's in the same way that this one was. Being his was what made it beautiful, but no one was vain as him would ever understand that.

"Anything at all?"

His eyes snapped open, but he didn't seem _angry_ exactly...

"Anything you ask, Reed. I swear it."

"Alright, Victor. I'll hold you to that. ...Stand up."

Doom rose carefully and Reed wasted no time at all, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him closer, delighting in the way their bodies fit together so perfectly, with Victor finally relaxing against him enough that his forehead rested against Reed's temple. For a few seconds, he held the ridiculous man gently in his arms, fingers sifting through hair that he could now see contained stray flecks of silver, breathing in the scent of him and memorizing every small detail.

All the times he'd imagined Doom surrendering, and never once did he think it might take this form.

Victor finally stirred and Reed was fully prepared, cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. He'd meant to be gentle; to offer some reassurance that forgiveness and redemption were still possible for him, that Reed would always be his friend, but that intention dissolved the second their mouths actually met and he felt the squeeze of Victor's hands on his shoulders.

Friendship and noble intentions and repressed longing were no longer enough. Not weighed against the very real possibility of something else, unfolding right now, and who would ever have to know?

Yes, it was wrong. Reed more than half-hated himself for even considering it, but knew without question that he was going to do it anyway.

Surging forward, his lips prized Victor's open so that their tongues could meet; quick, playful flicks that quickly hardened into something else. Something quicker and hungrier that they seemed to lose control of mutually; they couldn't have stopped if they'd wanted to. 

Victor made a soft, breathy sound against his mouth and Reed shivered and pressed against him urgently--it was intoxicating just to see him like this, with no stubborn pride or cold reserve or bitter hatred to hide behind. A lonely, brilliant man with all his defenses stripped away, offering himself to... Reed, of all people.

He had a terrible, vicious impulse to refuse.

He had an infinitely stronger urge to continue, though. And to treat this gift with the utmost care.

"I want this off--" He tugged at the belt to Victor's robe, leaving it open enough to slide the thick, soft material down the king's powerful shoulders, hands trembling faintly in eagerness. "I want everything off. I need to _see_ you."

Victor moved quickly, stealing a small, light kiss first: first the robe, then his undershirt, tugged off with help from Reed's grasping fingers, and finally the drawstring of his black pajama pants.

Doctor Richards was certain that if there's been just one more layer, his inevitable frustration would have given away everything--but as they lowered to reveal bare skin, he only stared in fascination, biting his lip and... admiring.

Victor was breathtaking. He always had been; it was a singular tragedy that he didn't fully recognize it himself.

All Reed could fully focus on for the moment, though, was how close they were standing, with no risk attached to drawing closer. Knowing that Victor _wanted_ that closeness, wanted _him_ made it impossible to hang back or wait any longer; the robotic body maintained _relatively_ calm vitals--for now--but his real one was an absolute wreck of adrenal activity, skin so flushed and hot he almost felt feverish.

Everything in Latveria, meanwhile, had a dreamlike quality to it, urgent but unhurried at the same time.

Looping an arm around Victor's waist, he tugged abruptly to pull him closer and enjoyed the lush, near-silent laugh that sudden gesture inspired. Perhaps this had all gone to his head, just a bit. Perhaps Victor had forgotten, just for a moment, that he was supposed to be a machine and not the real thing--

The way his fingers made quick work of Reed's shirt buttons suggested he may not be dwelling on that fact at the very least, and best if he not think too much about it himself, Reed quickly decided--with Victor's calloused hands on his skin and his mouth at Victor's neck, it really didn't seem so important.

With one palm flush against the small of Victor's back, he leaned in to lap a playful trail along the pulse in his neck, kissing his way back down. His other hand kneaded the hard, rounded muscle of Victor's ass, all the images in his head blatantly and shamelessly pornographic--Doom, with his hands tied above his head, legs apart and bent at the knees, desperately aroused but prevented from doing anything about it, watching Reed with eyes positively _blazing_. Maybe even whining, though that was harder to imagine. Alternatively, thoughts of how he might look gagged, on his knees with his hands behind his back while Reed edged him and simply listened to his muffled sounds of frustration--it was a shockingly long list of ideas and Reed had to admit that he'd been collecting and burying those fantasies since their earliest days together, never letting them reach the surface. Now, they all emerged full-blown at once and vied for his attention.

Victor had just pushed his pants down to his hips; Reed took advantage of the distraction and the temporary need to lean against Victor for balance to press forward and wrap his arms around, digging blunted nails into his back and biting into his bared, undefended shoulder.

A quick twitch of response, the hand on his hip tightening--then Victor breathed out with something akin to a hum and relaxed under Reed's hands, even going so far as to tilt his head to one side invitingly.

Covering the first bite with a gentle, apologetic kiss, Reed immediately found a spot at the juncture between shoulder and neck to leave the next one; Victor gripped the back of his head, fingers working through hair and scalp encouragingly and Reed was happy to take that as his cue, biting in a long, sharp pattern that would almost certainly leave marks later on. Victor gasped once or twice, murmured something he didn't understand, and backed him toward the bed without interrupting, all of it a surprise to Reed--though a very welcome and intriguing one.

Doom would have marks from his teeth, for at least a few days, and he seemed to welcome that. He seemed to _want_ that. 

The more remarkable thing, in Reed's eyes, was that he showed no inclination to handle him roughly in return; every touch so far was gentle, his kisses were surprisingly soft even when they were passionate, and as he ran exploring fingertips down the arch of Reed's exposed hip, he did it with a kind of reverence that was startling--though whether it was in awe at his own handiwork or something more was impossible to say.

The way Victor looked at him suggested--

God, why _was_ Victor looking at him like that? Like he was hopeless, like something was gnawing away at him and he didn't quite know what to do. Like Reed was a lifeboat and he was sinking.

Victor seemed aware, suddenly, of just how much he'd revealed, and sought to deflect by turning Reed's attention elsewhere--pressing sharply against him, practically grinding now, and nuzzling into his throat, teeth grazing the curve of Reed's jaw until he could pause long enough to kiss him fully.

There was no clear decision to shuck the rest of his clothes, that just followed naturally--having anything in the way, anything between them at all, was unbearable now.

He needed more contact, needed to entangle himself with this stunning, enigmatic creature, but Victor moved first, pressing him back onto the bed and following after on hands and knees. Prowling over him, Doom kept his eyes locked on Reed's until Reed threw both arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down.

Victor's taste was unique; metal and spiced cider and more than that, some mixture that was greater than the sum of its parts. Wholly human and deliciously real, warm lips and a quick, feverish tongue that darted and delved and sought after his relentlessly.

Every time his lover broke away from the kiss, Reed wanted nothing more than to pull him back in again, until Victor pressed a hand gently under his jaw and turned his head to the side, leaving his throat bare for further attention instead, and then further down to his chest and stomach--leaving a damp trail of playful bites and soft, sucking kisses before positioning himself between Reed's legs. Richards froze, every muscle tensing as Victor breathed across the head of his cock but did nothing else for an achingly long time, then his mouth closed over the tip and his tongue painted circles against the slit and his body simply reacted of it's own accord--hips jerking upward and hands clenching at the bed covers, toes curling and knees spread wide, head back and moaning shamelessly as Victor's head dipped rhythmically, his tongue braced against the underside as he set a slow, deliberate pace, cupping and squeezing the already-sensitive sac beneath the shaft just to spoil Reed further with sensation.

Reed was completely inarticulate, gasping for breath and struggling to hold back; to not let this end too quickly. As long as he breathed carefully, and focused, he could almost manage it until Victor's mouth slid lower and the tip nudged into the back of his throat on every subsequent thrust; the unexpected bump of heat and pressure adding another layer to it all.

He made a lost, hopeless sound and curled his hands in the duvet, trying and failing to keep his hips still--his body was simply not listening anymore. 

"S-Stop." It was stunningly hard to say when so much of him wanted Victor to keep going--but he wanted _Victor_ even more. At that moment, he was nearly certain he wanted Victor von Doom more than he'd ever wanted anyone or anything in his life--even if it took a few minutes of staring up at the canopy and waiting for his head to clear a bit before he could continue, his arousal reaching an uncomfortable point now that it had been denied.

Pulling himself up to his knees, he faced Victor groggily, glad that the android's skin could replicate his own blush; when he pulled the king's hand to his cheek, it feel soothingly cool by comparison. Odd, since so much of Doom's body was otherwise so warm when his roving hands explored it; the broad muscles and thick scars decorating upper arms, chest, and shoulders, the beautiful ruin of his face... Reed stopped there, caught short by Victor's dark eyes, watching him so intensely that they almost hurt to meet for too long. Scanning further, he could see the way cords and tendons moved under his skin and dark dusting of hair; he could hear Victor's ragged breathing and see the purple-red tip peeking out from between his thighs.

"Reed--" Long, elegant fingers curled around Victor's length and whatever he'd been about to say, he never did. Doom had always prided himself on being stoic; being silent and unmoved even by carnal pursuits, but he could hear himself panting, could feel the moans trapped in his throat, and sooner or later...

His metaphorical mask would slip, he assumed. The thought was a strangely exciting one.

Leaning across Reed's legs for a second, he pulled something from the bedside drawer and handed it to him--as much a request as a necessity, and judging from the brief flutter of embarrassed surprise, Reed understood him perfectly.

"Yes, Victor. Absolutely, yes."

Another kiss, a few seconds of prep--Victor wasn't sure he could handle more than that--and he turned to face the wall, pressing back against Reed, letting him guide his body downward onto hands and knees.

Reed steadied himself with deep, fortifying breaths and ran his hands over the well-defined muscles of Victor's back, loving the way they moved under his touch.

Somehow.. it _was_ all about Victor; more than anything, he wanted this to be amazing for him, as it already was in Reed's eyes, but what did he need? What was he searching for in all of this? Richards had only a handful of educated guesses that he hoped were correct, fingertips digging into the curves of Victor's hipbones as he pulled him back slowly and pushed in deep, not pausing or hesitating until he bottomed out--and immediately withdrew for a second thrust.

Victor didn't make a sound. Reed could see his hand on the pillow, clenched so tightly that white knuckles strained against the skin, he could feel the king's body quivering with tension under his, but Doom was silent.

Until he felt Victor press back against him, urging him on, Richards was afraid he'd gone too far. It came as a relief when his free hand gripped Reed's and pulled it down, guiding it to his cock, and finally, he heard a sharp sub-vocal noise from Victor; a needy gasp that sent heat flooding through him.

"Tell me what you want, Victor. I need to hear it--from you."

The hand on his let go and Reed felt his lover tense, below him and around him; he slowed down to a gentle, steady pace and waited, heart hammering in his chest.

"You said-- 'anything' and this is what I'm asking--"

"I need you, Reed." He spoke in low, harsh bursts that Reed wasn't certain he'd heard him at all, for a second. "I need this. Please."

He knew the admission did not come easily to someone like Victor, but once the floodgates were open, it seemed to be easier for him--the gasp as Reed's hand moved faster, stroking him roughly in time with quickened thrusts, the low sound of pleasure when Reed's hips snapped up sharply in response--

"Yes--" Victor was actually _verbalizing_ , and Reed wasn't sure he could stand it; other arm wrapped around the king's broad chest as he bent across him and nipped at the back of his neck, switching his focus just to slow the momentum.

"Harder--" Reed's breath hissed as he held on for just a second longer, maintaining a brutal pace and brushing the tip of Victor's cock with this thumb; his teeth nearly pierced the skin and the sound Victor made, the way he clenched around Reed, the way his arms and legs shook, everything came together suddenly until Reed's awareness was flooded with light and pleasure and the steady, rocking movements of his lover beneath him.

The machinery functioned exactly like a human body; neural net plugging into Reed's own neurons at a far remove so neatly that he was only aware of the robotic one at that moment. The real one, he assumed, would need a shower as soon as he disconnected--

But that could wait. Until he'd brought Victor down gently from his own climax, one arm still snug across his chest to keep their bodies close and let him leave a line of small kisses across his shoulders.

Reed could taste the salt on his skin, feel his heart pound against his forearm--Victor showed no sign of relaxing; he didn't seem inclined to move yet at all. It was Doctor Richards, ultimately, who pulled him back and curled protectively around him--Doom was broader, larger in a general sense, but Reed's loose limbs still managed to cover him; still managed to hold him comfortably enough. He felt Victor's hand over his, the fingers cautious as they wrapped around his palm, and was searching for the words to explain himself when Doom turned to face him.

For a few seconds, he only stared, his expression impossible to decipher. Then Reed felt his fingertips searching against the base of his skull as Victor's lips pressed his forehead.

"Victor, there's something I--" the connection was severed abruptly and Reed slumped in his seat like a puppet with the strings cut--knowing he'd lost a chance that might never be reclaimed.

Back in Latveria, Doom held the robot's cheek fondly and took a slow, shaky breath.

"I know, Reed. I knew the moment you touched me."


End file.
